


His last thoughts

by ArthursKnight



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Drug Use, Gen, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, suicidal Merle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-28 01:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12594764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthursKnight/pseuds/ArthursKnight
Summary: Merle does the only thing he thinks is possible to escape his situation





	His last thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> I find it stupid to say on a fanfic, but here it is: the characters belong to AMC and The Walking Dead's folks. I only wrote the story.
> 
> A huge thank you to @faeylinn on Tumblr for beating this work.
> 
> Please note: this story may be triggering. Please do not read it if it may hurt you somehow. Read the tags, Y'all.  
> I wrote this fic for personal reasons, to vent and to not commit suicide myself. If you need to talk or vent or whatever, I am always here or on Tumblr as @merlebae. IF you don't want to talk to me, there are other means through which you can find the help you need.
> 
> It is rated Mature for the theme.
> 
> Said all this, I hope you like this. Look at the Warnings. The "Graphic Descriptions of Violence" is put because Merle self-harms.
> 
>  
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THESE CHARACTERS AND DO NOT MAKE MONEY OUT OF THIS WORK. ALL RIGHTS TO THE RESPETIVE OWNERS.

 

Music blasted through an old, battered radio. The sound screeched and there were moments of silence, but Merle didn’t give a damn. Not that there were many things he cared about these days.

Merle inhaled the smoke deeply, his eyes half closed, and brought his hand to his mouth; an exhausted sigh escaped his lips as tears formed in his eyes. His empty stomach growled, but Merle couldn’t bring himself to eat. _Would it hurt if I slit my wrists? Surely, faster than not eating for a week or more._ His bare chest showed clearly the ribs underneath the skin and muscles, and he wanted to puke out of disgust. There was nothing left of the strong teen he had been. _Maybe if I jumped out of the window?_ His sight drifted to the open window, and the shitty street outside. As if answering a call, he walked to it and eyed the concrete. _Would…_ He gulped. I’ _d escape from him, yeah? I’d finally escape… but Daryl… Would he touch him like he does with me?_ Merle laughed at the thought. _Of course not. He’s not a fuck-up like me. He’s a good kid._

His crossed legs felt numb against the hard floor, yet he couldn’t bring himself to move. He’d wasted all the energy crystal had given him before by dealing with his father. _Can’t he stop? I…_ The young man shook his head, his curls whipping his hollow face, and hugged himself. The white mist enveloped him as if sheltering him from the truth, clouding his mind to the reality of his life. He didn’t recall exactly what happened, how they’d got to that once again. The ghost of William’s hands on his body haunted him.

Merle massaged his aching muscles, taking a deep breath. His chest hurt, yet he kept sniffing the drug. He blinked. As the toxin entered his body, he felt his limbs get stronger again, and a wide smile formed on his face. _Finally some fucking force._ He sneered, then licked his dry lips. He suddenly wanted to go outside and beat his father, for all he did to him, his mom, and Daryl. His heart beat faster as he felt his spirit lift. Energy streamed into his arteries, into his mind, making his heart pound faster. Alive.

  


Merle sat in the bathtub, his scraped knees close to his chest. Frowning, he tried to remember why he was even there.

Blood trailed down his arms from deep, self-inflicted wounds, and it mixed with the water from the showerhead above him. His curly hair was heavy and stuck to his head, and the itching from both his scalp and wounded skin was driving him insane. _Look at me, the fucking disaster._ He made a disgusted sound. The cuts and burns were supposed to hurt, and maybe they did, but Merle didn’t feel anything. It was almost as if his body wasn’t his anymore. _And it isn’t. Isn’t it? It’s dad’s for when he wants to fuck. It’s my employer’s when I work. It’s owned by the drugs when I use it. Not mine anymore. If it ever was…_ The young man pressed his fingers against the wounds, making more blood flow out. He groaned, yet persisted in his task, digging his fingernails into the battered skin. The red liquid mixed with the water flowing around him. Yet, no pain.

His chest felt hollow, and he painted a fake smile on his face. It fell as fast as it had formed. Not for the first time that day, he wondered if Daryl would have cared if he died. _Would he cry? Would he wonder why? Get angry? Feel pain? Probably not._ _He’d be happy to lose me. I’m just a burden._ Merle covered his face with his hands, trying stop the tears which ran freely down his cheeks. _Mistake_. He tugged at his curls, tearing them off his scalp, while he suppressed a scream that would have brought unwanted attention from his shit of a family. _Useless. Worthless._ Blood trailed down his skin and hair, so he sighed and put his head against the bathtub’s hard surface. _Where’s all the energy gone?_ Looking down, he bit his bottom lip. _What a fucking mess._

Merle got up, helping himself by grabbing the sides of the bathtub, then got out with careful steps. He felt the urge to close his eyes and sleep forever, to get away from all the pain. _Is there an end to the pain, for people like me?_ He took his clothes from the floor and put them on, hissing at every movement; dread settled in his heart, and he gazed around, searching for something sharp. His eyes found a Swiss Army knife on the floor, fallen from his pants.

Merle took it, sniffling. His face went blank as he opened it. _There is no happy ending for fuck ups like me, is it?_ The young man stared at the blade in his hand, then he cut his wrist, a deep, horizontal red line forming on his skin. Merle cried out, unable to stop the scream, and fell on his knees. His breath got heavy. With sight obscured by the tears and heavy limbs, he tore at his other wrist. As he fell face first onto the floor, Merle waited for the end to come.

  


Daryl knocked on the bathroom door. “Merle! Did you die in there?”

When his brother didn’t answer, the boy opened the unlocked door and uncertainly called out: “Merle?”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and/or comments. I love to know what you think


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